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Thursday, September 4, 2014

The Huge Roses: Chapter Eight, part one

American nurse Tory Bird, visiting Amsterdam with her
sister Jane, meets Dr. Maximilan van den Nie whilst giving first aid to
an injured English tourist. After a lovely weekend, Tory returns home
to the United States, daydreaming of the handsome Dutchman. To her
surprise, Max arrives in Tory's New Hampshire village a few weeks later!

THE HUGE ROSES (working title)
copyright 2014 by Betty van den Betsy; not for reprint or publication without permission

Tory drove straight to the
international terminal, where her mother took the wheel.Dad insisted on accompanying her in to the
airport, rolling her carry-on for her.They saw Max as soon as the airline desk came into view, and he spotted them
seconds later, walking toward them with a welcoming smile and only a handsome
clutch for baggage.

“Good afternoon, Max,” her father
greeted the Dutch doctor.“Goodness, you
travel light.”

“I’ve just checked two large
suitcases, actually,” Max explained.“I’m bringing some supplies for my friend’s clinic.The ordinary shipping channels are slow and
expensive, so he often asks visitors to carry odds and ends.I’ve even got some spare parts needed to
repair the golf cart he and his staff use for local transport.”

“I should have thought of that,”
Tory exclaimed ruefully.

“No need,” Max assured her.“If I hadn’t been able to accommodate
everything Everard needed, I know I could have called on you.”

“I’ll wish you every success with
those golf-cart parts, and the rest of your mission,” Tory’s dad said.He enfolded his youngest in a generous hug,
explained, “I ought to get back to Hannah; I don’t want her to have to circle
the terminals too often.She gets
dizzy.”He smiled at his mild joke,
while Tory rolled her eyes up.Max
smiled, too, and for a moment Tory felt slightly dizzy herself.She concentrated on waving good-bye to her
father, which helped her focus again.

Their check-in was uneventful, and by
unspoken, mutual consent, they both spent the hour until their boarding time
reading – Tory noticed Max was taking copious notes on whatever he had up on
his e-reader.Once they were aboard,
comfortably settled in business class, Max suggested he provide more background
on Luisa Nepala before the dinner service started.

“Yes, please,” Tory responded.“I’d love to learn more before I meet her.”

“I had a chance to talk with her
briefly,” Max informed her.“She’s very
grateful for the opportunity to return home.I believe she’s been very lonely for the last few years, since the De
Groots moved to Paris from Amsterdam.Her arthritis makes everything more difficult, as she has been
accustomed to stay very busy with household tasks she can barely perform
anymore.I went to school with Piet de
Groot, and used to spend an afternoon or two a week at his family’s home.Luisa baked marvelous speculaas – you know
those cookies?She also made a... stew,
I suppose, that was part Dutch hutspot and part Namibian potjie.It was perfect on cold afternoons after rugby
practice.And she filled our
imaginations with marvelous stories of her life as a girl on the plains.On my first trip to West Africa, everything I
saw that ought to have been exotic seemed familiar from Luisa’s vivid
descriptions.My earliest realizations
that not everyone lived as my family and I did are due to her.”

“She sounds very special indeed,”
Tory commented.

“For me, yes,” Max confirmed, then
continued, “I spoke with her doctor in Paris.She recently diagnosed Mrs. Nepala with congestive heart failure, which
was causing water retention and orthopnea.She also had a chance to prescribe treatment for the arthritis...”Max detailed the medications Mrs. Nepala was
now taking; Tory was very familiar with them and nodded her understanding.The flight attendant interrupted briefly to
offer them a choice of tournedos of beef or mushroom risotto; orders placed,
Max resumed his briefing.

“Mrs. Nepala was never a very
assertive person, and I sense that age and pain have increased her
timidity.I know you’ll be a real help
to her.Together, we may be able to
encourage her to try a few exercises that will help maintain what function she
has left in her hands.I think she also
needs a good deal of encouragement to understand that her heart condition is
progressive, and not an immediate death sentence.She seems to be very worried about that.She is also deeply concerned that she not
give any trouble to her former employers or to you and me.We’ll need to be gently reassuring, without
seeming to ‘protest too much.’”

“That’s all very clear, and very
reasonable,” Tory said, sitting back as their dinner trays arrived.“Thank you for telling me all that.It’s really helpful.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing Mrs.
Nepala,” Max mused.“And especially to seeing
her reunited with her family.She’s been
a very long way from them for several decades now.”

“How long has it been since you’ve
seen her?” Tory asked.She was struck by
his compassion for someone with whom he’d had, from the sound of it, a fairly fleeting
relationship many years before.

“Ten years or so,” he
answered.“She’s been in Paris for
almost that long.I believe the last
time we had a proper chat was after a party celebrating Christina’s graduation
from university.”

“Could I ask you...” Tory began
hesistantly, poking her risotto as she spoke.Max looked attentive, and she was encouraged to finish, “...what’s it
like growing up with nannies and butlers and things?It seems so different from, well, my life and
my friends.”

Max smiled, but took her inquiry
seriously.“It varies, of course,
Tory.”She nodded silently.“For my family, staff are, in many ways, part
of the family.Nanny Winton was paid, of
course, but she treated us probably very similarly to how your Gramma – it was
‘Gramma?’”Tory smiled affirmation, and
he continued.“My nanny was very like
your gramma – someone who took care of us and praised and punished as needed,
and taught us how to become adults.My
mother didn’t do the kind of work your mother does, with an outside employer,
but she had responsibility for the bookkeeping on the farm and the Amsterdam
house, as well as ordering the maintenance of both those large, old
properties.That kept her very busy, and
she added to that volunteer work that she still does today, as well as meeting
the many social demands that my father’s work, and I suppose our family’s
position, required of us.So a nanny was
a very valuable resource for her.”

“Jaap and Sitske, my cook, are both
third or fourth generation members of their families to work for ours – maybe
more.Mother could tell you; she keeps
an extensive family history amongst her other works.Jaap’s son manages my family’s farm in
Friesland, and his daughter housekeeps for my sister Joke.There are cousins who work for cousins of
mine, and then Jaap’s second son is a very successful entrepreneur who employs
household staff himself.In any event,
for my siblings and me, household staff seemed more like extended family than
anything else.And while we could cut
back on staff, do more ourselves and be less meticulous in the housekeeping,
and maybe spend the money saved on salaries for private planes or luxury resort
vacations or some other high-end treats, we prefer this way.”

“It actually sounds rather cozy,”
Tory responded, after a moment to digest what she’d heard.

“I think it is,” Max answered.“There’s the expression, ‘It takes a
village,’ but sometimes we make our own villages.”

“I actually used to play at being a
butler when I was little,” Tory confided.“I thought it sounded like a wonderful job.”

Max muffled his shout of laughter,
in deference to the confined space and lateness of the hour.“I’m sure you would ‘buttle’ impeccably
well,” he said.“As you do everything.”

“My work for the next few hours
will be trying to sleep,” Tory replied, unnaturally pleased by his extravagant
compliment.“I don’t want to be
staggeringly tired when I meet your friend Mrs. Nepala.”With that, she adjusted her seat, headrest,
blanket and light, and closed her eyes.

She slept lightly for most of the
flight, and woke tolerably refreshed in time to creep to the washroom to tidy
up a bit.Face, hair and teeth gleaming
again, she returned to her seat to decline breakfast, finding that Max agreed
with her.Why eat an airline croissant
90 minutes before arriving in Paris proper, with a wonderful bakery on almost
every block?Realizing they had not yet
talked about the itinerary for their 36 hours in Paris, she said, “I didn’t
think to ask you about this, but will we be staying with the De Groots?Or someplace else?”

“Elsewhere,” Max told her.“One of my cousins works here in Paris.The company provides a flat, and it’s quite
generously-sized, so we’ll be able to stay with Arne and Elsa.I think you’ll like them.”

“Similar, though in this case
Norwegian.Mother’s sister Antonia
married a Norwegian; Arne is their son.”

Soon they were busy with organizing
themselves for landing, and shortly after debarking they split up for passport
control.Since Max went through the EC
line, and Tory was in the slower ‘all others,’ they met again at the baggage
carousel, then walked through customs together toward the cab stand.Soon they were speeding through the outskirts
of Paris, and slowing as they entered the city proper.Tory gazed around with delight, spotting the
distinctive shape of the Eiffel Tower and taking in the broad contours of the
famous boulevards.They made little
conversation beyond the occasional, “Lovely, isn’t it?” but the silences never
felt uncomfortable.

When their taxi pulled up to one of
the iconic creamy-grey stone buildings on a quiet avenue, Tory happily gazed
about at the city coming alive in the soft light of morning.While Max paid the driver, a dapper gentleman
emerged from the building and collected most of their luggage.Uncertain of the etiquette, Tory kept quiet
and followed her companion’s lead.He
greeted the baggage-handler formally and gestured to Tory to follow.“Monsieur Darot is the concierge here,” Max
explained as they entered the lobby, which offered a view into a traditional
Parisian courtyard.

“Bonjour, Monsieur,” Tory offered,
and was rewarded with a grave nod and a spate of French too fast for her to
follow.She nodded in turn and entered
the elevator through an ornate ironwork grill.The three of them traveled to the fifth floor in near-silence, and
exited into a hallway with just two doors.“Two flats per floor,” Max noted.“Arne and Elsa’s is to the left.”As he spoke, the door on the left side flew open, and a lovely blond,
some few years younger than the doctor, strolled into the hallway with her arms
open before her.

“Max,” she called, “Goedemorgen, en
welkom.”Seeing Tory’s expression, she
offered a reassuring grin.“Not to
worry, that’s the extent of my Dutch.I’m Elsa Rasmussen, and you must be Tory, and you’re very welcome to our
home.”

Tory thankfully shook the proffered
hand, replying with a relieved smile.“I’m sure you know ‘dag’ as well.Everyone seems to say that all the time in the Netherlands.And ‘danku’ – I so appreciate the welcome and
your excellent English.”

“Max, she’s charming,” Elsa
informed her cousin, ushering Tory into the apartment as Max tipped the
concierge.Tory, her cheeks on fire,
barely noticed the small foyer floored with marble as she made her way rapidly
into a large living room with a thick rug and half a dozen armchairs
upholstered in different fabrics featuring pale, warm yellow shades accented by
various tones of blue-green and lavender.The walls were soft yellow, and silk curtains in a deeper, marigold
shade flanked the tall windows.

“Oh, how beautiful,” Tory
exclaimed, forgetting her embarrassment in delight at the view of the
courtyard.

“I am so glad you don’t mind my
wife’s eccentric manners,” a slender man in a gray suit said, coming through
the wide arched doorway at one end of the room.He offered a hand, saying, “I’m Arne Rasmussen.I’m delighted to meet you.”

“It’s a great pleasure,” Tory
answered, and then stepped aside as Max and Arne greeted each other with a
vigorous hug and wide grins.

“They are treating you well, aren’t
they?” Max said, with a speaking glance at his cousin.

“Well enough that we can offer you
breakfast,” Arne answered, voice and expression deadpan.“And then we’ll let you sleep if you’d
like.”He gestured them toward the
archway, and again Tory was struck by the beauty and effortless elegance of the
room.This one carried the yellows of
the living room, but toned down with lots of cream and the large sideboard, the
table and its matching chairs.Tulipwood? Tory wondered – but didn’t care to ask.Her attention was focused on the platters
crowding that sideboard.There were
croissants and other pastries, a chafing dish promising eggs, fresh fruits,
sliced cheeses, yogurt, granola and a bowl of hard-boiled eggs.

“We don’t always breakfast like
this,” Elsa assured them, “but one never knows with long flights, so I thought
a bit of everything.”

“You’re very kind, Elsa,” Max
thanked her.“Tory and I skipped the
airline’s breakfast, and all of this looks just the thing to welcome a person
to Paris.Thank you.”They each chose a selection of the delicacies
and sat down to enjoy them.Tory added
little to the conversation, which focused on family matters.It seemed Arne and Elsa were already familiar
with Mrs. Nepala’s story.They asked
nothing about Tory and Max’s errand, but did wonder whether the two had plans
for their time in Paris.

“Is there anything you would
especially like to see or do?” Max asked her.

“I think getting to know Mrs.
Nepala, so she’s comfortable with me, is the most important thing,” Tory
answered.“If there’s time, I love to
climb Notre Dame and look at the city from that roof-top bit.I’ve only been here twice, though, so I don’t
know Paris well.”

“You must explore the Jacquemart,”
Elsa insisted.

“A museum, right?”

“Indeed,” Max confirmed.“And I believe Elsa has it exactly
right.The museum was once the home of a
banker and his wife, an artist.It includes
not only paintings and sculptures but also the furnishings they chose at the
turn of the last century.I have not
been for several years, but if my memory is accurate, I think you and
Jacquemart will be perfect for each other.I also enjoy Notre Dame, so if we plan to visit those two sites, we
should be able to accommodate a couple of visits with Luisa as well.”Tory had a sudden image of sitting over
breakfast every morning with this man, watching his long, sensitive fingers
peel an orange and listening as he thoughtfully arranged the details of a
day.“Bliss,” she murmured.

Arne laughed while his wife still
looked puzzled.Max continued peeling
his orange, unconcerned.“Let me show
you your room,” Arne offered.“Your
things are there – we have a maid in the mornings.I have to be off to the office, but will see
you both for dinner this evening.”Tory
gratefully shuffled along beside him to a handsome bedroom furnished with
everything a weary traveler might want.She sank into the crisp sheets and was almost asleep before she’d
finished setting her alarm.

Waking ninety minutes later, Tory
showered quickly and dressed in the slacks and pullover.The outfit was comfortable for walking, but
dressy enough for the urban environment.She joined Elsa in the living room, and Max emerged a few minutes
later.“I thought I heard you,” he
said.“Did you sleep well?”

“Dreamlessly,” Tory assured him,
and turned to Elsa.“Your home is
lovely.”

The Norwegian smiled prettily.“Not really our home,” she noted, “it’s a
company flat.But we’re very lucky to be
so comfortable while Arne is stationed here.We’ve been almost three years in Paris, and should learn soon whether
they want him to stay on here, head for a new location, or return home to
Norway.”

“Maybe he’ll be asked to move on to
Den Haag,” Max teased.“Then you’ll have
a chance to improve your Dutch.”She
laughed gaily, and Max looked to Tory.“Are you ready to leave?” he asked.“We’ll be welcome at the De Groots’s anytime this afternoon to meet
Luisa Nepala.”

“Oh, yes,” Tory assured him.“I’ve got everything in my bag.”

With Elsa assuring them of an
excellent dinner that evening, Tory and Max headed out into a cool and overcast
morning.“The museum first?” he
proposed.“And then Luisa for an hour or
so, and then to Notre Dame?We’ll have
time in the morning to stroll along the Sienne, and drop by the church again if
we like before a longer visit with Luisa.”

“It sounds perfect,” Tory concurred
with the plan.Even if she hadn’t
admired Max as much as she did, she would have been enjoying the trip.He was an excellent companion, smoothing the
way without any trace of pushiness, and they agreed easily on almost
everything, without needing the stiltedly polite negotiations required so often
when traveling with a friend, or a relative.

The Musée Jacquemart-André was
everything she had been promised, and maybe more.The 19th-century mansion that had
once housed Madame Jacquemart and Monsieur André was as discreetly elegant as a
massive, neo-Classical mansion could be.The furnishings, decoration and especially the Parisian passementerie were sumptuous, and the
collection of artworks was very much to her taste.They had a light lunch in the museum’s café,
where Max eulogized the beauties of Van Ruysdael’s 17th-century
Dutch landscapes.Tory agreed
wholeheartedly, but admitted finding guilty pleasure in the extravagantly rich
colors and romantic fantasies of Boucher and Fragonard.“Why guilty?” Max asked in real puzzlement.

“They’re just so pretty,” Tory
explained.“If I really had to choose,
I’d prefer art that’s a bit more challenging.Fragonard lets you off easy; he just makes gorgeous pictures of gorgeous
people in gorgeous gardens.He’s like
whipped cream – rich and delicious but not very nutritious.”

“What was it you said about whipped
cream, that evening in Dartmouth?Better
than being angry?”

“Did I?I’m not angry often – but I do like the
occasional dollop of something 100% enjoyable and luxurious, even though I
doubt I’d want to live in a house like this, surrounded by pudgy cherubs and
gilt and beautiful dilettantes in head-to-toe silk.”

“Too rich, indeed,” Max
agreed.“I find myself wishing for a bit
of mud and a worn old towel with which to wash it away.”

“No, indeed.I quite enjoyed the piece they have
here.It’s amazing to see how well he
handled both theme and technique at so early an age.”

Not for the first time, Tory
marveled at how comfortable she was with Max, and how much she enjoyed their
conversations.He took her seriously, but
didn’t mind teasing, and while they usually agreed, they had enough different
opinions to keep things interesting.As
Max settled the bill, she sighed for the thought of the years ahead, when she
would, she expected, search vainly for someone to equal him.

Tory, however, was not the type to
stay glum for long, especially not in Paris, under a reasonably clear sky.“This is just my third time here,” she
commented as they left the museum and strolled toward the De Groot home, “so I
know Paris isn’t always cloudy.”

Max interrupted her with his
characteristic shout of laughter.Tory
smiled herself, as if his amusement was contagious.“I don’t spend a great deal of time here
myself,” he said, “but I do think of overcast weather as the norm for
Paris.The city isn’t known for clouds,
but I suspect that’s partly because in comparison to London, it’s a paradise of
sunshine.This soft, half-light, though,
seems ideal for the white stone so many of the buildings here use.”

“I remember being surprised on my
first visit that it really is as beautiful as people say,” Tory remarked.“The gentle glow of the buildings is part of
that.Like in the Cotswolds – I’ve only
been once, but it was gorgeous sunshine, and the yellow stone really did look
like honey.It seemed so perfect for the
hills and pastures and everything.‘Mellow.’Isn’t that was people
always say?There’s a mellow glow to the
stone.”

“Yes – that word suggestions
relaxation, doesn’t it?Tranquility.I find the same
thing in Paris, curiously, despite the miserable traffic and noise.Were you in Stratford-upon-Avon?”

Thus they chatted as they walked
briskly through the chilly avenues.It
was just over a mile to their destination, another large, creamy and elegant
apartment building.Max took the lead as
they entered the lobby, greeting the concierge politely and informing her of
their mission.After a brief phone call,
or intercom call, she ushered them to the elevator, swiped a security card and
pressed the fourth floor button for them.

As the doors opened, Tory
understood why the card.They emerged
directly into the apartment, specifically a marble-floored foyer with a mix of
modern furnishings and stuffed animal heads that seemed incongruous together,
and in that specific building.

A young woman in a severe black
dress with white apron, collar and cuffs was waiting for them.“Monsieur van den Nie?” she asked.

Max replied, in French, that it was
indeed he, and introduced Tory.She
extended a hand to the maid, who seemed surprised but quickly reached out her
own in response, smiling shyly as they shook.“Bonjour, Madam,” Tory offered, and asked how she did.

“Ca va, merci,” the woman replied,
and offered to take their coats.The
coats hung in the hall closet, she announced she would take them directly to
Luisa Nepala’s room.They followed her
through the large, high-ceilinged rooms, all furnished in an aggressively
modern style of swooping sofas and zigzag chairs in bright colors, interspersed
with an occasional elephant-foot table or tusk-and-hide footstool.

“Goodness, it’s very...
interesting, isn’t it?” Tory remarked.When Max chuckled, she suddenly hoped the maid had a limited
understanding of American vernacular.‘Interesting’ wasn’t always a compliment, after all – but she was taken
aback by the decor, and had started her comment before she had thought through
what she might say.‘Weird’ would have
been a lot ruder, she consoled herself.

Before she could regret too much,
they were through the kitchen and in a narrow white corridor with linoleum
floor.The maid tapped at one of several
doors, opened it slowly, and then left them with a respectful nod.Tory hung back to allow Max to enter ahead of
her, but he swept her in first, following closely behind with a hand – warm and
firm – on her back.

Mrs. Nepala was already on her
feet, her eyes alight and a gentle smile curving her lips.She held out both hands to Max, and he folded
her, delicately, into his embrace as they greeted each other in Dutch.Tory stood quietly, waiting her turn.When Max switched to English to introduce the
two women, Tory took Mrs. Nepala’s offered hand in the lightest of grips,
saying simply but sincerely, “I am so very pleased to meet you.”

Their hostess gestured to two small
chairs at a tiny table.“Please, will
you sit,” she invited.“Marie will bring
us tea.She is a very good girl.”She herself sat down on the edge of the
daybed that offered the only other seating in the room.Tory and Max took their places at the table,
and he asked after his old friend Piet.Tory silently applauded his decision to begin an involved conversation
with a neutral subject like his childhood playmate.Mrs. Nepala showed her enthusiasm for Piet,
who was serving in the Dutch Navy and sailing around the world as a
reconnaissance specialist.

Marie appeared with tea and a plate
of delicate cookies, which she deposited on the small table.“Please be mother, Tory,” Max asked, and she
poured the hot brew into two light china cups, then discreetly placed the
special cup she’d brought with her on the table.She signaled Max with her eyes, and he smiled
broadly when he saw the plastic mug with two sideways handles.Explaining its purpose to Mrs. Nepala, he encouraged
her to try it.“Not quite so pretty as
the china,” Tory acknowledged, “but it is much more comfortable for most people
with arthritis.”As their hostess took
hold of the cup Max carefully extended to her, Tory could see the doubt in her
eyes change quickly to joy.

“Oh,” she exclaimed.“I can hold it quite easily.”She added an obviously heartfelt, “Thank
you,” while Tory mumbled her ‘of courses’ and ‘it’s nothings.’

With a few interjections from Tory,
Max gradually moved their conversation to the next day’s journey, and his
friend’s health.She had a good grasp of
her medication regimen, and was well-supplied with the pills she would
need.Tory, with her daily experience of
general medicine, was able to explain the purpose of each drug and assure Mrs.
Nepala that while her condition was very serious, its affect on her daily
activities ought to be limited.Given there
was little hope of a cure for congestive heart failure, Tory felt a change of subject
would be for the best, but couldn’t think how to manage it.She blessed Max’s quick perception when he
told Mrs. Nepala that the dry climate in her homeland would be beneficial to
both her heart and her joints, and moved the conversation to the weather and
culture of Namibia.

Tory was delighted to hear more
about the long, hot days and cool nights she would soon experience, the
birdsong and animal calls of the savannah, and the wide variety of game meat
her hostess enjoyed there.She asked
about Mrs. Nepala’s family, and the topic was clearly a hit.They spent a very pleasant 30 minutes or so
with descriptions and exchanges of photographs, and even Max contributed a
snapshot of his very pregnant sister.Shortly after, Marie, the maid, tapped on the door to inform the party
that Monsieur and Madame de Groot had returned, and would like to see Monsieur
van den Nie in the drawing room.

“While you visit with your friends,
Max,” Tory suggested, “I can help Mrs. Nepala with her packing.”Max seemed like he might protest, but the
older woman’s obvious appreciation of Tory’s offer stopped him.

“Will you join us in, say, 20 minutes?”
he asked, and Tory nodded her agreement.She genuinely enjoyed her time with her new friend, carefully folding a
suitcase’s worth of well-worn, well-cared-for garments, and gossiping about
grandchildren and in-laws as they tucked small gifts of specialty foods,
delicately-scented soaps and second-hand books into every available
cranny.After twenty minutes, she
reluctantly took her leave of Mrs. Nepala, and made her way back through the
kitchen and into what she thought of as the ‘decorated part’ of the house.

Hearing voices behind one of the
imposing doorways, she knocked lightly before turning the knob and peeping
around the door.A brusque voice said,
“Marie, we’re quite all right here,” before its owner noticed her.“Hah!” he added.“Not Marie.”

Tory almost giggled before Max
smoothed over her arrival, stepping toward her to take her hand and introduce
her first to Mevrouw de Groot, who smiled warmly, and then to her husband.Minjheer de Groot had the same supercilious
air as his daughter, Tory thought, conjuring a vision of the icy blonde at the
Concertgebouw two months earlier.‘Much
less hair, though,’ she added naughtily, as he pumped her hand roughly, twice,
before dropping it like a stone.

“You are so kind to be a help to
our Luisa,” Mevrouw de Groot offered after the introductions.“I have been worried.”

Her husband interrupted.“Ridiculous to worry.You coddle these people, and no good comes of
it.Of course Max is always happy to
help, but Piet would have taken care of it on his next leave.Better this way, though.Piet would fuss too much.He is like his mother.”He ended with something like a glare at his
wife.

“We are delighted to assist,” Max
interjected calmly, “if I may speak for Tory.”She smiled her assent.“And now I
simply must make good on my promise to get her to Notre Dame in daylight.I hope we shall be able to visit briefly
tomorrow, before we leave for the airport?” he asked.

“Tomorrow?”Mevrouw de Groot sounded surprised, and
unhappy.“You leave tomorrow?I believed it was two days from
tomorrow.I am sure that was Christina’s
plan.She means to join you on the
trip.She has such a fondness for
you.And for Luisa, of course,” she
finished bravely.

“Oh, dear,” Max said, his eyes, for
once, wide open.“I hope I am not
responsible for the confusion.Definitely tomorrow.We are on a
very tight schedule.”

“I am afraid not this time,” Max
replied.“What a disappointment.But I shall look forward to seeing Christina
in Amsterdam at the end of the month.You will be there as well, I know.Old Year at our home, as usual – I do hope you will join us.”

As he spoke, he maneuvered Tory
toward the door with a strategic hand, and she, conscious of undertones she
didn’t understand, kept a social smile tacked on her face.The farewells turned more general as Marie
retrieved their coats, and after another round of handshakes, she and Max were
back in the elevator, headed down.

“Not a word, Tory.Not a word,” Max requested, and she struggled
to hold back a giggle.Unsuccessfully:a peculiar mewing
escaped, followed by a series of gurgling laughs.Max joined her, chuckling quietly, and they
escaped onto the pavement in great accord.

“I don’t even understand what just
happened,” Tory confessed as they strode briskly toward the Seine.

Max caught her hand.“And yet, in a way, you do.Laughter was certainly the correct response.”

“Just his handshake,” Tory
sputtered, very aware of the contrast between Minjheer de Groot’s awkward
attempt at bone-crushing and her current companion’s warm, firm clasp.She quickly realized she may have been guilty
of a faux pas.“Sorry; I know they’re friends...”

“I’ve never been friends with
Piet’s father,” Max said emphatically.“Mother and son are quite nice people, though they don’t assert
themselves as they ought when father and daughter behave badly.It’s the thought of our narrow escape in
fooling Christina, actually, that had me laughing.She is a terrible travel companion, and I’m
afraid I outright fibbed to ensure we wouldn’t have her company.”

Tory’s eyes grew huge.“You lied
to her about the date?”

“I did.You’re welcome.”

At that, she burst out laughing
again, startling an elderly gentleman walking past with a Pekingese.The sun had, in a languid manner, swept its
way past a few of the clouds that had predominated that morning, and in its
rays Tory suddenly felt like skipping.The uneven cobblestones of the sidewalk, and Max’s calm presence beside
her, kept her to a walk.

“I mentioned my first trip to West
Africa,” Max continued.“I went as a
guest of Piet’s, traveling with the entire family.Christina brought three or four cases, for a week’s
visit to her own home, where she had a wardrobe stored.She never offered to carry anything.At one point she handed her purse to her
mother, saying her fingernails hurt.The
air hostess who waited on her deserved a medal of honor.Amongst other horrors, Christina sent back a
glass of tomato juice three times.I
don’t remember all the reasons.She had
to buy a new pair of shoes in the airport shop at Johannesburg, because the
shoes she was wearing pinched.She
replaced them with something equally tight and pointy and high heeled.I learned later that Piet had tipped the
porters lavishly from shame over his father and sister’s poor treatment of them
– I had done the same.”

He told the anecdotes in such a
lighthearted tone that Tory felt free to burble with laughter throughout the
monologue, their clasped hands swinging.For a moment, Max was tempted to try a skipping step, and wondered where
so peculiar an impulse had arisen.

Soon enough, they were at the
magnificent cathedral on the Île de la Cité, standing awestruck in the small
throng of tourists always to be found there, even on a gloomy, early-winter
weekday.However, the line for the tower
stairs was almost non-existent, and she and Max were on their way up the
tightly circling, worn stone steps.Tory
liked to stop and peer through each window slit, imagining the people who had
mounted a guard here centuries before.“It seems a bit... counter-intuitive, doesn’t it?Waging war from a church tower?” she shared
the thought with Max.

“Are you sure these were used for
defense?” he asked.“I suppose, 900
years ago, everything had to be ready for an attack, but I had imagined narrow
windows in a stone tower were simply a function of this thick stone being very
difficult to carve.”

They continued their spiral path,
speculating amiably about the middle ages, and finally emerged onto the first
roof, to gaze with delight at the city sprawling away from the river below
them, and the gargoyles and other architectural flourishes on every side.Tory walked to the front of the cathedral and
put her hands on the ancient railing, looking toward the beginning of the
sunset, picking out the Eifel Tower, the Louvre, wondering if she could see the
Jacquemart-André Museum from here.As
she leaned forward and dropped her researches in favor of simply enjoying the
view, she relaxed into the romance of Paris.

And sprang immediately upright,
pushing herself back from the fenceline.Romance!She could not risk
feeling romantic, here, now, present company considered.She would
not risk romance.They had an 18-hour
flight to survive tomorrow!

Max, seeing his companion’s sudden
leap, wondered whether it had just occurred to Tory, as it had to him several
times that day, that sightseeing together in Paris was not the best method of
maintaining a cordial but entirely platonic friendship.Resting one elbow on a parapet, he sighed at
the thought of what Paris could be with the right woman – someone happy to walk
for miles, alert to the beauty around her without being blind to the more
difficult sights, interested in history, art and culture but not obsessed with
obscure details (he had dated an historian, briefly), and not endlessly
concerned with her hair and interested exclusively in sightseeing through the
more expensive boutiques.Someone Dutch,
or free to immigrate – his responsibilities to family and household were too
convoluted to shift.Someone in her 30s,
who had seen enough of life, and of men, to be sure of what she wanted, and
ready to settle down.

The phrase came oddly into his
mind:“settle down.”It was not an idea he had articulated before,
even to himself, but it was, in fact, exactly what he wanted.He enjoyed his life, loved his large family,
his work and students and staff; the house in Amsterdam, the small farm near
Hindeloopen.He had taken for granted
that in the course of time he would meet a family-minded woman and marry, have
children and grow old together.That
vision had always seemed part of a vague future, however.Since getting to know Tory, it had begun to
take on a more concrete dimension.He
looked over the rooftops of Paris and wondered whether his ideal woman might be
somewhere in those elegant streets and buildings.Abruptly, he realized he had drifted into
reverie, and pulled himself from his daydreams.Since neither luck nor fate had brought him a wife, he resolved, he
would need to take a more active approach to marriage when he was re-settled in
Amsterdam.With that decided, he
strolled off to find Tory.They would
need to head back down before the evening deepened.

As they walked back toward Arne and
Elsa’s apartment, Max made sure not to take Tory’s hand again.The dusk of early evening deepened and
softened the city’s beauty, and it became easy to understand how one might be
carried away, and do something foolish in the twilight.Instead, he made sure they engaged in shop
talk.“Tell me, Tory,” he requested,
“what sorts of issues do you see most often in your practice in Bristol?”That was a harmless topic, and got them
safely through the city in a welter of asthma and heart disease.